Hear the Children Calling (20 page)

Far away, in an isolated village in the Rocky Mountains, someone else was experiencing her own personal hell. Jenny Segal stared through tear-filled eyes as a technician removed the electrodes from her, one by one.

“If you had told us at once about this woman you have been seeing,” Dr. Adams said, “this might not have been necessary. But you let yourself be drawn in by her, Jenny. In spite of all my warnings about the Outsiders, you believed this woman.”

Jenny sniffed loudly. “She—she seemed so nice.”

“All Outsiders seem nice until they find out what you really are,” Dr. Adams said. He gave Jenny a hand and helped her down from the chair. His smile was the same as usual, but even though she was only ten, Jenny had the feeling he used the same kind of smile when he talked to one of his pets.

“Well, she won’t be bothering you any longer,” her mother said. “That woman is gone from your mind, I’m sure.”

Alice looked over Jenny’s head at Dr. Adams. The little girl gazed up at the adults, reading a message between them but unable to comprehend exactly what it was. She only knew this: her mother had heard her talking in her sleep and had found out about the woman with brown hair and glasses. Right after breakfast, she had taken Jenny by the arm to the clinic, where the little girl was forced to call on the woman. Where she was forced to call her horrible names and tell her never to come back again.

Jenny cried all the way home, ignoring her mother’s commands to stop. She felt as if a good friend had
been torn from her, and for the life of her she couldn’t understand why it was necessary. . . .

27

I
F ANYONE HAD QUESTIONED WHERE
B
ETH GOT HER
incredible mane of dark-red hair, the answer would have come within seconds of meeting her grandmother. Lillian Blair’s carefully permed hair was still rich in color, her red curls tipped just here and there by white strands. She was standing on the sidewalk in front of her house, wearing a yellow linen suit and a blouse embroidered with brilliantly colored flowers when Stuart, Natalie, and Beth climbed out of their taxi. Beth’s grandfather, Oscar, stood just behind Lillian, his hands on her shoulders. Stuart thought, as he paid the driver, that Natalie was the perfect blend of her parents: her mother’s eyes and cheekbones, her father’s mouth and complexion. And when they embraced, he tried to fight the suspicions he’d been harboring that, somehow, Lillian and Oscar Blair had placed their grandson in the hands of kidnappers.

“It’s so good to see you,” Lillian cried. She was a jovial woman who never seemed to speak softly. Every word, every gesture was full of emotion. “Come in. Come in. I have a little snack ready.” She put her arm around Beth’s shoulders and hugged her tightly. “And, of course, hot chocolate for you.”

Beth smiled. Tired from the plane trip, she didn’t say anything.

“We certainly were surprised to hear you were coming,” Oscar put in, coming up alongside Stuart. He tried to take one of the suitcases, but Stuart shook
his head. Inside the house, he set them down near an antique brass coat rack.

“As I explained over the phone,” Stuart said, “something urgent has arisen. But we can talk about that after Beth has gone to bed tonight.”

Before Oscar had a chance to question him, Stuart moved quickly into the dining room. Lillian had set the oak pedestal table with orange and red stoneware, painted to resemble sunflowers. There was an apple strudel and a chocolate layer cake as well as an assortment of cookies.

“This is a little snack?” Natalie asked. “We only called you last night. Where did you find the time to bake?”

“It was my pleasure,” Lillian insisted. “How often do I get to see my precious granddaughter?”

Stuart looked around, leaning a little to glance into the kitchen.

“Where is Beth, by the way?”

“The bathroom,” Natalie said. “I don’t think she’s feeling well, Stuart.”

There was a look in Natalie’s eyes that told Stuart she meant something more than jet lag. He gave his head a slight shake and quickly changed the subject—so quickly, in fact, that Lillian and Oscar gazed across the room at each other. Stuart had said something urgent had come up. Both grandparents wondered if something was wrong with Beth.

As the grown-ups were talking, the little girl had already left the bathroom and was exploring the bedrooms. She went back to the one she knew would be hers for the stay, the room where she always slept when she visited her grandparents. Grandma Lily had laid a handwoven serape over the four-poster bed. There was a big stuffed cat sitting in the rocking chair. Grandpa Oscar had bought it for the twins when they were babies. Even though her father said it was impossible, Beth was sure she could remember them playing tug-of-war with its long, striped arms and legs. She picked
it up and held it close, trying hard to remember Peter as he had been when they were together.

“Oh, Peter,” she whispered, a single tear falling from her closed eyes, “please tell me where you are.”

Someone tapped her shoulder. Beth opened her eyes, expecting to see one of the grown-ups. Instead, a boy stood in front of her. He had red hair and freckles, and his eyes were brilliant green.

“Peter!”

The boy’s head tilted to one side. “Who are you? Why do I keep seeing you? Please, can you help me?”

“Yes, Peter. Yes, I can—”

“Don’t call me Peter. My name is not Peter. I am not Peter! My name is Michael Colpan! Michael! Michael!”

He was screaming so loudly that Beth was certain the adults would come running. She reached out to him, to touch and comfort him.

Her hand grabbed thin air. Beth took a quick step forward, turning quickly in search of the boy. How could he have just disappeared like that? There was no sign of him, but as if from a great distance, she could hear him calling out to her.

Please help me. Please, I don’t want to hurt anyone. Stop it! Please stop!

Beth ran to the window and unlocked it. As she pushed it up, the crisp mountain air rushed into the room. But now she could hear Peter’s voice more clearly. She looked toward the dark silhouette of the mountains. Resting her hands on the windowsill, she leaned out and screamed into the night, “Peter! Peter!”

Her shrill voice had raised a barking of dogs before strong hands took her by the shoulders and pulled her back into the room.

Beth gawked up at her father, her eyes wild. “Daddy, I heard him. Peter is very close, I know it.”

Stuart nodded. “Yes—yes, Beth. That’s why we’re here.”

“But you don’t want everyone in Santa Fe to know our business, honey,” Natalie put in.

Beth swallowed hard, then spoke in a voice that was only slightly more controlled. “He’s in those mountains, Mommy,” she said. “He was calling to me. He’s scared. I think someone’s trying to hurt him.”

Oscar and Lillian, who had been watching all this from the doorway, came to join them. Oscar wore a dark frown, but for the moment he kept his thoughts to himself, trying to make sense of what Beth had said. Lillian, on the other hand, had no intention of fading into the background.

“Natalie, what the hell is going on here?” she demanded. “What’s this talk about Peter? Why is Elizabeth talking in such an insane way? To say that Peter is in those mountains—”

Oscar shushed her, irritably. “Lillian, let the children explain themselves in their own good time,” he said.

“The time is now, Dad,” Stuart said. “I think we should sit down, don’t you? Some of that hot chocolate might calm Beth down.”

Lillian opened her mouth to say something, but Oscar was already steering her back to the dining room. No one spoke again until they were all seated, with cake and beverages set out before them. Beth rested her chin on her hand and stabbed at the layer cake, a dessert that, a few weeks earlier, she would have polished off in seconds.

“I think you’d better prepare yourself for a shock,” Natalie began. She looked over at Stuart, trying to think how to begin. He picked up the hint and tried to explain what was happening.

“Mom, Dad,” he said, “some things have come up. Circumstances—bizarre circumstances—have led us to believe that Peter is alive.”

Lillian’s gasp filled the room.

Oscar sat up straighter, reaching quickly for his coffee cup. He took a long gulp and choked. “How can that be possible?”

For the next hour Stuart and Natalie took turns relating the events of the past few weeks. Occasionally, Beth would fill in information they did not have, all the while toying with her uneaten cake. When at last they finished, Oscar sat thinking quietly, shaking his head. Lillian pushed her chair back and got up to walk around the room.

“My grandson—alive,” she cried. She looked up at the ceiling, the tears on her cheeks glistening in the light of the chandelier. “If only it could be true.”

“It
is
true,” Beth insisted.

“But why would anyone take him?” Oscar asked. “I could understand something like this happening today—now that you’re a big-shot real-estate tycoon and a prominent political figure. But six years ago? What would be the point?”

“We’re not sure,” Natalie said. “But we do know this: Peter has been trying to communicate with his twin—with Beth. Maybe they wanted him for his gift of telepathy.”

Lillian tossed a hand. “Oh, Natalie. Lots of people have telepathy. My own mother did. And no one kidnapped her. It must be something more than that.”

“No matter what the reason,” Stuart said, “we have to get our son back. And that’s where we think you can help us. You were the last people to see him alive. Can you remember the day you took him to the airport?”

“Oh, well, hell,” Lillian cried, “that was six years ago. We couldn’t possibly remember every detail.”

“Anything,” Stuart cried. “Can you remember walking him up to the security check? Can you even remember going into the airport?”

Oscar looked down at his empty plate, as if the crumbs of apple strudel could jar his memory. He certainly remembered helping Peter pack his suitcase. And there had been an argument . . .

He turned to Lillian. She was standing behind Beth now, rubbing her shoulders. “We had a fight,” he said. “About Peter’s flying home with a baby-sitter.
You said you thought it was disgraceful that neither Stuart nor Natalie could take the time to travel with a little four-year-old.”

“You said that?” Natalie asked.

Lillian shrugged. “He seemed so helpless.”

“For heaven’s sake, Mother,” Natalie said. “He was flying with one of my best friends.”

“Who managed to get onto the plane without him,” Stuart put in. “That’s the gap here. Agatha Braun was killed on that flight. How she could have walked on board with the wrong child is beyond me. Try this—can you remember leaving him with Mrs. Braun?”

There was a pause, then Lillian held up one long red fingernail. “Oh, I do recollect something,” she cried. “We took him into that little gift boutique. Don’t you remember, Oscar? He wanted to buy something for his sister. I can even hear him saying, ‘Poor Beffie’—he always called her Beffie—she’s got a sick tummy.” And then he picked out a little road-runner for her.”

“That’s right,” Oscar said. “It was in a running pose on a piece of wood, and there was a little sign that said: ‘Souvenir of the Land of Enchantment.’”

Stuart finished pouring himself another cup of coffee. When he set the pot down again, he said, “Okay, you got him into the airport. Who exactly was with you?”

“Just the two of us and Peter,” Lillian said.

“What happened to Agatha?” Natalie asked.

“Who?”

“Agatha Braun,” Natalie said. “The woman who took Peter on the trip.”

Lillian shrugged. “Oh, I think she was off checking in their luggage.”

“And when did you meet up with her?” Stuart asked.

“With whom?”

“Mother, with Agatha Braun,” Natalie said, growing impatient.

Oscar let out a slight, breathy laugh and Lillian
tossed her hand again. “Who in the world are you talking about?” they both said.

“There was no Agatha Braun with Peter,” Oscar insisted. “He got on the plane all by himself. We took him up to the gate and watched him get on.”

Natalie stiffened, but Stuart reached across the table and took her hand.

“Something’s going on here,” he said. “Somehow you’ve blocked the memory of Natalie’s friend escorting Peter. A minute ago, you said she was checking in the luggage. Now you say you don’t know who she is.”

Oscar bowed his head and began to rub his eyes. Lillian sank into a chair, looking forlorn, quiet for once in her life.

“I’m sorry,” Oscar said. “It’s all a jumble. I don’t know why I said there was no Agatha Braun. Of course there was. I don’t know where the thought came from.”

“Someone put it into your head,” Stuart answered. He got up and walked around the room, shaking a fist. “Somehow, between the gift shop and the security check-in, someone got hold of you and Peter. They took Peter, but planted false memories in your brains so you’d remember watching Peter get on the plane.”

Oscar whispered, “We were brainwashed?”

“Brainwashed,” Lillian gasped. “Of all the ridi—”

“It’s not ridiculous, Mother,” Natalie said. “Nothing in regard to finding Peter is ridiculous. And if there’s any way you can help us, any way at all . . .”

“Of course we’ll help,” Oscar insisted. “I just don’t see how.”

Stuart came back to the table, sitting again. He finished his coffee and started on a third cup.

“Did anyone come to visit you during Peter’s stay?” he asked. “Anyone out of the ordinary?”

“Not that I can remember,” Lillian said.

“There’s a lot you can’t remember,” Natalie grumbled.

“What about the pictures being sent to us?” Stuart went on. “Do any of your acquaintances dabble in art—specifically, portrait work?”

“Of course some of our friends are artistic,” Lillian said. “How can you live among such natural beauty as the Rocky Mountains and not feel creative?”

“But portraits?” Oscar added. “Sorry.”

Natalie sighed. “If only there was some way we could jar your memories, some way to break through the wall they created six years ago.”